


Cocoon

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, M/M, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 01:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21171203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: A glimpse at a Sunday afternoon and some brotherly love-making.





	Cocoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).

The world is a crazy place. A place full of threats and horrors and challenges.

England is no exception. Not by far.

Two men, two brothers to be precise, are doing their best to keep things right. Well, to tidy up their little, or not so little, corners, each and every day.

One of them works in the centre of power, scheming his way around politicians of all sorts, discreetly leading the secret forces of the country, manipulating the powerful into doing what he thinks is the best for the kingdom of Great Britain, smiling when he's feeling like screaming, threatening if his charms are wasted, keeping it all up, making the country work to the point of total exhaustion, sacrificing his own well-being to the sake of the nation.

The other one has dedicated his life to solving puzzles. Not exactly children's puzzles though. He is helping the police catching murderers, helping private clients to erase threats from their lives. His choices are made from a point of satisfying himself, as his brain is running on full capacity all the time; it needs to be distracted, saved from boredom. Adrenaline is his tool for not going mad; the thrill of the chase keeps him from numbing his ever-shouting brain with legal or not so legal drugs. He keeps running and thinking, and no matter that he does it for the sake of his own well-being – in the end he is making life better for others in the go.

Two men, two brothers, always there for others.

But once every month, twice, if they are lucky, usually on Sunday afternoons, they leave the world, the problems, the puzzles outside.

Their phones are switched off. They are out of reach. For two hours, maybe three, they stop being the British Government, as the older one is called by the younger one teasingly, and the Consulting Detective, the only one in the world.

They leave the three-piece-suits in the wardrobe. The famous coat has been hung up downstairs. Where they are now, no formalities exist. Clothes are redundant.

For now, they are reduced to flesh and skin, to the basic needs of two still young men, for they may be brothers to the world, but here, in the older man's bedroom, with all alarms in place, they can be what else they are – lovers, partners, caretakers for each other.

For they have dedicated their lives to the greater good, as different as the paths they have chosen may be, but they have dedicated their hearts to one another.

The world would not understand. The people they spend time with regularly would swallow and maybe even give them away; the detective, the one who actually has friends, has pondered about this without coming to any conclusion. He likes to believe they would understand and even support them but he knows it's a risk they cannot take. For his love for his brother is one that society condemns, that law forbids, no matter how stupid this is in their eyes.

But this all doesn't matter now. In these stolen hours, locked away from the outside world, they are not the string-puller and the detective. They are Mycroft and Sherlock, two brothers, two men in love.

A love that can't dare speak its name, but here, in the privacy of Mycroft's bedroom, behind locked doors, it is being lived. It’s alive and it makes them feel alive.

*****

Tender fingertips are dancing over a furry chest. Full lips close around an erect nipple, poking out of the hair. Another long-fingered hand is stroking over a smooth back while five digits are caressing the sensitive scalp under thick, black curls.

Sherlock shifts to be able to reach his brother’s mouth. They kiss. Lips are parted and tongues meet in a lazy, teasing rhythm.

The younger man sighs contently when he is pulled into a tight embrace. They are connected with their entire bodies now, their hard appendages trapped between their long-limbed, lean bodies. Mycroft, lying flat on the bed with just a small pillow stuffed behind his neck, is softer around the waist, but he is in good shape for a man who spends his days sitting behind a desk. His fingers are ghosting over Sherlock's arse now, grabbing it firmly eventually, pulling him closer against his groin. He smiles when Sherlock moans into his mouth, and he can feel his stomach getting moist from his brother’s pre-seminal fluid.

Mycroft raises his hands to cup Sherlock's cheeks, deepening the kiss even further. The room is dark due to thick curtains, and a thunderstorm is coming up; black clouds are banking up on the sky.

The room is silent but for their panting. Neither of them is one to get loud even in the heat of passion, and they are taking their time. Their hands are exploring each other now as if it was the first time. It always feels like it. Always feels new and precious and intense.

They roll over so Mycroft is on top now. He buries his face in the crook of his younger brother’s neck, inhales him, his lips worrying tender skin. He can feel Sherlock's hands frantically rub up and down on him, pawing at everything they can reach.

Moving southwards, leaving his brother’s grip, Mycroft nuzzles his nose against the space between Sherlock's hipbone and groin, sniffing his musky scent. Only quickly he laps at the fully erect penis and the taut, hairless balls before he pushes his brother up so he can reach his most intimate spot. He licks and circles his tongue around puckered flesh. Sherlock's breath speeds up and he starts to tremble.

Mycroft takes him apart, working him open little by little, lick by lick. When he eventually sinks into dripping tightness, Sherlock is already close to climaxing. His responsiveness to Mycroft’s caresses never fails to amaze the older man.

They move together in a well-known, steady rhythm, slowly increasing to the sound of the rain that is drumming against the window now.

They keep their eyes open, gazing at one another. Sherlock's lips are parted and a soft, quiet moan escapes them at every deep thrust.

Mycroft’s heart is filled with devotion, with pride to be able to give so much pleasure, to take Sherlock, the ever-cool, ever-eloquent detective, apart, reducing him to a panting, vibrating mess, giving himself to him, trusting Mycroft with being at his mercy. Mycroft knows he will never misuse this power over his baby brother. All he wants is making him feel good, feel loved, and he has no doubt it comes across.

When Sherlock reaches his crisis, hot semen splashing into the space between their bodies, Mycroft lowers himself on him, pumping into him with deep, hard strokes now, his mouth claiming Sherlock's once more, drinking in his guttural moans, and he releases himself into him, stilling when he is in him balls deep, filling him with his seed, his love and an unspoken promise that it will always be like this.

No matter how rare their encounters are, how often they wish they had more time, could be more open about spending this time with each other – in the end it doesn’t matter when they are together like this. Giving pleasure, sharing kisses, living their love – hidden in their secret cocoon.


End file.
